Realisations
by chrystaline
Summary: Harry visits the grave of the bravest man he ever knew.


It was cold. Harry kneeled before a thin slab of granite as the wind whipped his face and numbed his lips. The sun was on the horizon, the sky glowing with the remnants of its glory. His fingers traced the silver lettering that he himself had carved. A sad, contemplative expression crossed his face as he held a vial of swirling memory before him.

"Hello, Professor," he murmured as he glanced at the vial in his hand. "I brought you this. I thought you might want it back." He dug a hole in the soft, loamy ground with a muttered spell and buried it within. "I haven't gotten round to thanking you yet. I think that must have been the hardest thing for you to do, showing me those memories," he said as he laughed mirthlessly. It was a hollow, empty sound that echoed eerily throughout the cemetery.

"I don't even know why I'm here. You never liked me; I never liked you. Sometimes, I still wished it was that way. Mind you, Professor, I still don't like you very much," a brief smile ghosted across his lips.

"But after I saw those memories you showed me, I- I respect you for what you did for the war. I know you're a very private person so what it must have taken for you to give me those memories…" he trailed off and he glanced towards the groundskeeper who was ambling towards him. "I have to go, Professor. You won't see me again so, rest in peace." He conjured a single lily as he stood up and placed them before the grave.

"You deserve it," he whispered and he apparated away with a soft pop. The groundskeeper smiled.

Harry appeared almost instantly in the kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Kreacher was bent over fire as he prodded it with a poker.

"Good evening, Master Harry," he greeted enthusiastically as he straightened. "Master Ron is waiting for you in the lounge, sir." Harry nodded as he removed his coat and draped it over one of the chairs.

"Could you get two glasses of Firewhiskey please?" he asked when he was at the door. "Thanks, Kreacher." The wizened house elf promptly bustled off to get a bottle. Harry made his way to the lounge as he wondered at the purpose of Ron's visit. He usually floo-called ahead to say he was coming.

Ron was staring unblinkingly into the fire as Harry closed the door gently behind him. He didn't look up when Harry sat beside him.

"You went there again, didn't you?" Ron said softly. It was almost a whisper, but Harry didn't miss the accusation that laced the words. Sighing, Harry nodded. Ron's expression morphed into one of rage. "Why?" he demanded, as he slammed his hand on the spindly tea table. "Why do you keep going there, Harry?" He's dead, **dead**! Nothing can bring him back! You hated the man!"

Harry kept his expression neutral as he talked to the fire, "I don't anymore."

"He loathed you, Harry. He made your life hell. What else do I have to do to convince you about something you already know?" Ron all but exploded as he tried to knock some sense into his best friend's head. Just then, two glasses of Firewhiskey appeared with a pop on the tea table. Ron grabbed it off the table and downed it in one gulp. It seemed to intensify his fury, however, as he smashed the glass against the table. It shattered, fragments of glass spinning to land randomly on the table top.

Harry flinched as the glass rattled to a stop on the table. "I know that, Ron," he muttered. "But he gave up so much for the cause. So much of himself. I- I just want to remember him, seeing that no one else seems to care about his part in it."

Ron ran a hand exasperatedly through his shocking red hair. "So does that justify you visiting his grave every single day to avoid us for the past two months?" he bit out sarcastically as Harry nodded.

"Huh, so you aren't as brave as I thought you were, Potter," Ron drawled as he stood up. Harry's eyes narrowed. "You calling me a coward, Weasley?" he asked as anger coloured his vision red. A sudden vision of a time gone flashed before his eyes.

"_Fight back, you coward!" Harry snarled._

_Snape twirled around, his robes flying about him, hateful features contorted into one of terrible rage. "Don't. Call. Me. A. Coward!" he roared as he punctuated each of the words with a violent slash of his wand._

All at once, Harry seemed to deflate as his anger abated leaving only disappointment at himself and overpowering indignation.

"Don't," he said as he too stood up and looked Ron in the eye. Ron raised a single eyebrow challengingly. "Don't what? Don't call you a coward?" he mocked.

"Yes," Harry murmured, his eyes still fixed onto Ron's. "Don't call me a coward." Some unknown emotion flickered in Ron's eyes. Without saying another word, he repaired the broken glass and left.

"Hello, Professor, I'm back. I know I promised to leave you in peace but I had to come back. Ron and I sort of argued the other night. I realized I've never really apologized to you for all the things I've done. I'm sorry, Professor, for being so rude. I'm sorry for blaming you for Sirius' death. I'm sorry for never trusting you although Dumbledore did. I'm sorry for looking into your Pensieve. And-" he took a deep breath, "I'm sorry for calling you a coward. I know this apology is just too little, too late, but after all this, I know you're not a coward. You're the bravest man I ever knew. I think I've finally said what I really needed to say. Goodbye, Professor."

Harry conjured another lily and laid it on the cold granite. With that, Harry Potter took a last glance at Severus Snape's grave and left, a sad, wistful smile on his face.

**A/N: This is a tribute to Severus Snape - The man who gave even though the world insisted on taking. **


End file.
